Beautiful World
by yurionrice68
Summary: When Yuuri and Victor are targeted, everyday becomes a war. "We aren't letting a bunch of thugs intimidate us," Yuuri whispers into his ear. In response, Victor kisses him on the cheek, "I'm not gonna let love lose." In spite of everything, Victor smiles. It's a cruel world, but a beautiful one too.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Yuri on Ice.**

 **Trigger warning: slight violence, homophobic language**

* * *

It's a strange world they live in, where the slightest of difference can make people hop out on war. It is ironic how some are driven to hate when things they love don't quite look the same as others. The _different_ is castigated, humiliated, beaten to surrender.

Sometimes that is none of their concern. Sometimes it's all they can think about. After all, when there's a war, people seek to protect what is their own.

Sometimes, everyday is a war.

It's way past practice time, and even as Yuuri takes a shower in the locker room, changes into his usual walnut jacket and jeans and walks out to pack his things, he watches Victor still out on the ice, skating.

More like, swirling into combinations that vent out his frustration. He slides around so fast it's mind-boggling, not because he's focused but because he's angry. Yuuri stops the music. It doesn't affect Victor, he continues to speed around. He's angry, he's exasperated, he's scared. The screech the skates make on the surface are almost painful to hear.

"Victor!"

It is only when Yuuri calls out to him that he finally pauses; his shoulders slumped, panting for breath. Yuuri looks around for a pair of skates, when he finds none, steps on the ice barefooted. The cold hurts, but not as much as watching Victor like this.

"We have to leave this place," Victor breathes urgently, "We can't -"

"We're not going anywhere, Victor."

Their rings have a knack of catching a glint of light at the oddest of moments. Yuuri doesn't complain; it only reminds them how unbreakable their bond is. And Victor understands, sure he freaked out for a moment, but he does. He pulls Yuuri into a tight embrace, as if they are standing in the middle of a windswept field and will be blown apart if they let go.

"We aren't letting a bunch of thugs intimidate us," Yuuri whispers into his ear. In response, Victor kisses him on the cheek, "I'm not gonna let love lose."

In spite of everything, Victor smiles. It's a cruel world, but a beautiful one too.

* * *

The ordeal starts when Katsuki Yuuri wins gold at the Four Continents and Victor Nikiforov emphatically announces their engagement to the whole world, by coming down on one knee as soon as they step off the podium and graciously asking for Yuuri's hand in marriage. It takes the social media by storm; Instagram crashes for half an hour and Victor's profile is twice hacked in good humour. Ever since their inbox is flooded with good wishes; some fans have gone as far as send them honeymoon suggestions.

If only that is all.

First it is a couple of mails. Yuuri gasps at them, each word full of stinging hatred. Words that can make one wonder what kind of crime it might be to love and let love. Victor sees the apprehension on Yuuri's face, and asks him to shut the laptop down.

"Ignore the haters," he tells him. Yuuri bites his lip. Victor is relatively unfazed about it. He assumes Victor must've faced this before.

Or so he thinks, until one of these days somebody from the crowd of reporters and rabid fans with flickering cameras and microphones screams out as they are walking out of the home rink back to the car, "You _fag_! Go back where you came from you scum!"

Before Yuuri can even register it, he sees Victor has lashed out physically towards them. It's practically impossible to determine who yelled in that crowd, so defeated, Victor instead shrugs from the media and jogs his way to the car, fuming. Yuuri follows suit, a little apologetic, and more than a little worried.

"Are you okay?" he asks Victor as soon as he gets in, while Victor quietly raises the window pane. Yuuri has never seen him lose his temper like that before.

"Sorry, I - I just...," he sounds disappointed with himself.

"Victor, it's fine. You were only trying to protect me. It's alright. Just ignore next time."

Victor nods, shifts uncomfortably and looks out of the window at the other side. Yuuri sighs. More than assuring Victor, Yuuri knows he's trying to assure himself.

* * *

One day, Yuuri receives a call on Victor's phone. It comes from an unknown number and the man at the other side hisses in a mumble-jumble of Russian Yuuri doesn't understand. When the man stops complying and continues to hiss, Yuuri decides to record it. He doesn't get really good vibes from it, but who knows, it may just be an important call.

When Victor returns from the departmental store, his silver hair frosted with the snow flakes and the usual, adorable heart-shaped grin on his face, Yuuri pulls him into a gentle hug. Victor is pleasantly surprised; Yuuri isn't the kind who has sudden spurts of affection.

"Did you get the entire chore list?" he asks Victor genuinely.

"No, but look what I found," he says, pulling out a carton, "It's a detergent with Makkachin's face!"

"What?" Yuuri laughs, "Are you gonna sue them or something?"

"Nah, but they could've at least asked for his permission." Yuuri can't figure out if Victor's passionate rant is supposed to be taken seriously.

"It _can_ be some other poodle..."

"It's Makkachin! I _know_ when I see Makkachin!"

Yuuri raises his hands in mock-surrender, still laughing. Makkachin woofs in the middle of it, wagging his tail, at which Victor is sure the poodle is taking his side. As they move on to the lunch discussion, Yuuri's inadvertently reminded of the phone call, and his heart gives an unusual throb.

"Um, Victor, you left your phone at home and someone called and said something... I didn't understand so I recorded it..."

Yuuri plays the angry message. He looks up at Victor; the silver-haired man is at first stoic, but by the time the message ends colour has drained from his face. Yuuri furrows his brows at him, concerned. "What is it?"

It is a threat.

* * *

Two weeks pass and nothing out of the way happens, but Victor still can't get the call out of his mind. More than the call itself, Victor frets over how the creep got his hand over Victor's personal number, and if he can do that, he can possibly do the horrible things he talks about... how, in his kindest words, _he wants them gone back to the hell they belonged to... that he wants them dead so they stop messing with his son's head with their perverted media stunts..._

It's for the best that Yuuri didn't understand a word. That day Victor requested him to never ask about the message's meaning again.

The door creaks and the sound of it almost shakes his soul. He thinks it's Yuuri, but it turns out to be a smaller, thinner blond in a tiger-print hoodie and a fluffy cap messing with his carefully-unkempt hair, which as it seems he doesn't want to pull off his head since it's too cold. He reaches up to Victor and makes a noise that sounds like an angry kitten. "Come."

"What's it, Yurio?"

"Just come."

Yurio is the only other person to possess the key to the apartment, but Victor wonders what made him just show himself unannounced and then be so mysterious about it. Victor's mind immediately travels to the worst array of possibilities. What is he on about?

"Where is Yuuri?" Victor asks again, his voice shaky.

"Urrgh... just stop asking questions and come with me, will you?" snaps Yurio, as he leads him out to the car, "Why did they even send me..."

He knows Yurio to the bone; his not answering Victor's questions seriously tells him that nothing is wrong. Or so he hopes. The car waiting outside is their own car; Yuuri took it out in the afternoon. Against his hammering thoughts, Victor assumes that Yuuri must've given the kid the keys to it, and all Victor is doing is pointlessly overthinking.

Yurio is too small to get a license but he's an adept driver. To not get caught, they take the inner route. They don't talk much on the way, thanks to Yurio's metal playlist. Victor thinks he might puke owing to all the nausea getting to his head, if he doesn't get some information soon.

They reach Yurio's grandfather's place. Victor exhales. That is a little bit of relief. Suddenly, Yurio dashes his way in. Confused, Victor follows the trail.

" _Surprise_!"

Victor steps back at the noise of the balloons popping; everyone has screamed out together - Mila, Georgi, Yakov (of course he didn't scream, Victor is actually surprised about seeing him there), a grumpy Yurio joining at the side, his grandpa at the back readying a tray of food, Makkachin in front and Yuuri in the middle in an apron, right behind a large cake that said " _Happy Birthday Victor!_ " in terrible icing skills.

Victor scratches the back of his head, chuckling. He feels on the verge of tears, less from happiness and more for resolving his pent-up anxiety. "But it's not my birthday today."

"Yeah, yeah, it was last month," Mila chirps, "but it's not a surprise if it's right on your birthday, is it?"

"But - "

"Oh, c'mon you jerkass, just join in," hums Yurio, "It was Katsudon's idea. He even baked a cake for you."

He watches Yuuri grin nervously. It is the most beautiful grin; Victor likes how his laugh lines lighten up his whole face, how his nose reddens up a little in embarrassment, how his glasses catch a flare of the light, his brown eyes that can see through the stress Victor has been experiencing over the state of affairs. Victor thinks he's falling in love all over again.

Without ado, he joins in. He'll do anything to protect his precious little world, come whatever may.

* * *

Yuuri thinks Victor " _I'm extra_ " Nikiforov won't back down until he repays Yuuri's surprise with a bigger one. He wonders what it's going to be this time - whether a long drive on a rented million-dollar Cadillac again, or a candle-lit dinner atop Victor's favourite resort, which went awry last time when Victor decided to serve the food he made by himself (Victor is widely acknowledged in the skating circuit as not-a-really-good cook).

Yuuri wakes up a few mornings later, fishes around the side drawer for his glasses, his eyelids still drooping with drowsiness. He puts on his slippers, scratches his head and wanders into the kitchen for a cup of coffee, when he bumps into Victor, all dressed up, his scarf and overcoat and his silver hair on point, packing bags.

"Eh?" Yuuri responds to the scene sleepily.

Victor chimes in happily. "C'mon, we're going to Hasetsu for the weekend!"

And so it's a long, sudden flight. Victor buys a bunch of entertainment magazines to keep himself occupied, Yuuri nudges his head against Victor's shoulder and decides to get some more sleep. Soon Victor is the one who has dozed off against the warmth of their shared blanket.

Yuuri simply stares at him. Victor looks like a dork, his mouth slightly opened, on the verge of snoring. Yuuri notices Victor is growing out his hair again. He gasps at the thought of young Victor with his waist length hair, at the idea of it braided in all its glory. He wonders what he did to deserve a man _this_ beautiful.

It turns out the Hasetsu folks are well-informed about their arrival, thanks to Victor. Celebrations over their engagement, lots of home-made pork cutlet bowls, special treats for Makkachin. Over the weekend, it just doesn't seem to end.

Once drunk, Minako-sensei dramatically cries and complains to Yuuri how Victor has got closer to the Katsuki family over a span of mere months than she has in years. For the lack of a better response, he stutters out an apology.

" _Kidddding_ , Yuuri. I'm kidding. We all love Victor so much. He's made you so happy."

He struggles to hold back tears. She's right.

Sometimes, Victor has the best getaway ideas.

* * *

The last thing they expect is a bunch of Russian police at their apartment when they return to St. Petersburg.

More than shaken, they are a little stunned. The police is called by their neighbours, who have noticed the door was ajar since last day and the stuff in the rooms are ravaged. Plates lie broken over the floor, clothes are torn, the couch has been drilled on, the walls are scratched with messages in Russian. The police tells them nothing is stolen and it is a purposeless attack.

"Sir, you alright?" one of the officers ask as Victor's legs slightly wobble out of shock. While Victor nods at the man, Yuuri reaches out to hold him by the shoulder; he too is running out of things to say.

Yuuri's blood runs cold thinking what would've happened if they have been in the apartment when the attack occurred. Sending Victor to the neighbour's house as he seems too disturbed to process anything right now (of course, thinks Yuuri, since it's been Victor's home for way longer than it has been Yuuri's), he questions an officer about what the messages on the wall mean.

She confirms it; they are the same old string of hate words - _'perverts', 'fags', 'pussies', 'go back to Sodom'_. It is a hate crime. Someone wants them gone and they have dropped off all sorts of logical reasoning and resorted to actual attacks. It might be the same person who called on Victor's phone that day. Worse still, it might be not.

The news spreads like wild fire; Victor demands immediate security, and the reaction from Russian skating association is prompt enough - after all, Yuuri realises Victor is a national asset. It strikes him little later that the reaction is this prompt because of Yuuri - he is a foreign asset currently training in Russia, the Japanese embassy have got involved and things are more complicated than they seemed at first.

They are assigned an officer for their 24-hour security. It's the same one Yuuri asked to translate the messages on the wall. Barely in her mid-twenties, she seems alert about her surroundings but her eyes light up whenever she sees the skaters. She calls herself Evey, and confesses after a couple of days that she is a huge fan. Still recovering from the shock, Victor is cold at the beginning, but Yuuri thinks it's cute and they trust her right away.

One day at practice, Yurio hints at them that they should get out of that "unhomely" hotel room till their apartment is fully repaired and move in with him and his grandpa, who have a large space to spare.

"No," Victor rejects it. Yuuri is a little disappointed; the unfamiliar hotel room isn't too much to his liking either.

"Why not?!" Yurio is furious.

Yuuri knows what Victor is thinking. It is a slight bit dangerous. More people shouldn't get involved.

As if Yurio is going to back out with a reason that lame. After innumerable requests, multiple threats and a shouting match, Yurio makes Victor relent. By the evening, as Yuuri and Victor step into the Plisetsky house, the first thing that welcomes them is a bowl full of piroszhkis.

It feels quite like home.

* * *

"Yuuri?"

Yuuri is sitting at the other side of the bed engrossed in reading a book when Victor calls him out. Apparently the place doesn't have as much space as Yurio made it out to be, and as a consequence Yurio has given them his own room, and pulled out an old bunk bed for himself and shifted to the smallish guest room (it is too small for two). Before leaving, he has told them he's going to do rounds at night so that they don't get too gross on his personal bed. When it's Yurio, it's hard to tell, but they guess it's a joke.

"Mhm..." Yuuri responds, not looking up.

"I'm sorry."

Yuuri gazes up at that. "What? What for?"

Since the evening, Victor's heart has been swelling with pent-up emotions. He doesn't know how to explain. "It's been my fault. Everything, all of it. I shouldn't have done _that_... I shouldn't have kissed you in front of all those cameras in the first place... I don't know... I brought this upon us. Maybe if I'd never gone looking for you in Hasetsu -"

"Victor!"

He is so lost in his nervous rant that he doesn't notice that tears have begun streaming down Yuuri's face. It's too similar to how Victor first watched Yuuri having an emotional outburst during the Grand Prix last year, at the parking lot. Victor fumbles nervously, "Yuuri, I didn't mean -"

"Are you regretting me?"

"No, _no_!" Victor almost screams out; the question is too outrageous to even formulate a proper answer, "I didn't mean that, Yuuri. I'm the impulsive one. I brought this upon us. It's so much trouble to bear for you... It scares me, Yuuri. If you're regretting _me_ right now, I won't complain because I guess I had it coming -"

"Shut up," snaps Yuuri, "just shut up."

Victor quiets down and waits, even as the room fills up with the sounds of Yuuri's soft sobs. "You still don't get it, do you?" Yuuri continues, as he reached out to hold his hand, "You are the best thing that ever happened to me. You found me when I was standing at the edge of a cliff and nothing can take away the time I spent with you. Even if I die tomorrow, I'll die happy knowing I got the chance to be with you -"

Victor pulls him into a kiss before he can finish, "Don't _ever_ say anything like that."

It is their most urgent, passionate kiss, since no one knows when they'll share another like that again under a roof that feels like home. It ripples down to their bones like electricity. Yuuri moves on to unbutton Victor's shirt. Normally, Yuuri isn't this brazen, but it is as if when he cries, someone lays his soul bare. Yuuri is somewhat right; Victor still doesn't understand the mystery that Yuuri is, but that doesn't mean he isn't fascinated everytime.

"Careful," says Victor with a lopsided smirk, "It's my favourite shirt."

"Really?"

"Nah, not really. Go ahead, tear it apart, tiger."

They laugh at the same time. Somewhy, Victor still can't shake off the fear. But he can't let Yuuri stand out there alone. So he thinks he'll try.

When there's a war, everyone seeks to protect what is their own. This season, Victor decides his theme will be _courage_.

* * *

It's never a bed of roses.

In the next two months, there's no hint of any kind of an attack, but their security officer Evey tells them to keep interaction with public a bare minimum during competitions. It's no big deal for Yuuri, who sometimes likes being a recluse, but soon the act starts to suffocate Victor. The stress of competing at the World Championships, coaching a fellow competitor, turning away from crowds, creating routines – he begins to crumble under the pressure.

It's past practice hours and he can't stop. He skates like the wind, he speeds about and accelerates with every combination. He feels as if he might tear off his ligaments; it doesn't affect him. Someone stops the music; it doesn't affect him either. He cannot stop until -

"Victor!"

He pauses. His shoulders slumped, exhausted. He soon feels Yuuri's arms supporting him from the side. "We have to leave this place," says Victor, a jumble of nerve-racking thoughts in his head, "We can't -"

"We are not going anywhere, Victor."

Victor hugs him in a way as if he'll possibly never let go again.

"We're not letting a bunch of thugs intimidate us," Yuuri mutters against his cheek, "I'm not gonna let _love_ lose."

It's the usual bunch of media and paparazzi outside the rink. Victor faces away and makes a beeline to the car when he overhears a reporter asking, "Has the recent incident affected your wedding plans?"

Victor can't help but want to answer. He turns, but finds Yuuri already holding the guy's microphone. "Not at all," he says, as if he has never been surer of himself, "We still plan to marry after the Worlds. In fact, all of you are cordially invited."

Victor knows Yuuri is never _this_ public about his personal life, and the words are only meant to be taken as a giant "fuck you" towards those bastards. He buries down the uneasy sensation in his stomach, and reaches out to Yuuri.

"He's right," Victor tells them with his heart-shaped grin, "Everyone's invited!"

* * *

Both of them make it to the finals at Boston.

It is the free skate event, and almost time for Victor's routine. He is the last to go, and if he doesn't screw up big time, will comfortably get the gold medal. Which will make J.J get the silver and Yuuri the bronze, and Yurio miss the podium by a whisker. Yuuri stands a step behind Yakov, even as Victor spaces out during Yakov's instructions and has his eyes fixed on Yuuri.

"Vitya, are you even listening?!" Yakov yells again.

"Yes, yes," sighs Victor, before he moves on to Yuuri, "Anything to say?"

Yuuri chuckles nervously, "Go get the gold."

Victor kisses his ring before he leaves to a loud applause, "Okay."

Yuuri finds Yurio grumbling under his breath beside him as Victor takes the rink. Yuuri figures he must be disappointed. It is a funny feeling sitting on the fence, not sure who to support. "You still don't know the score," he tries.

"I don't need your sympathy," comes the immediate smackdown, "Until I've beaten your record, don't get too friendly with me, piggy."

"Um, alright."

"And the last thing I want is to see that _fucktard_ JJ get the gold, huh."

So they root for him together, somewhat. Victor is incredible, but a different kind of incredible; he is so passionate it's almost painful to watch, it is as if he has been pitted against the rest of the world and is fighting alone. He lands his quads with fearsome intensity. Yuuri clenches his fists; it's almost like that day at the rehearsals when Victor totally lost it.

And then it's over. He's done it. The blood, sweat and tears have paid off. He falls to his knees as the audience rises to a standing ovation. Yuuri can't help but race to that angel sitting in the middle of the rink.

"That was amazing," he kneels down with him.

"I love you so much," breathes Victor. It's out of the blue, and it hits Yuuri so hard he fumbles around for a reply. But before he can formulate one, Victor tugs his chin up and kisses him under the spotlight.

Granted, it feels a little safer here. But no matter where in the world they are, they don't care anymore. They can't afford to be afraid.

* * *

"God, you both are so lovey-dovey and... ugh," Yurio makes a face while Yuuri packs his things and hands them over to an attendee. He laughs at the fifteen-year old.

"You know, you're old enough to have a date."

"Shut up, Katsudon. You're not my _dad_."

"Oh, you _are_ dating, aren't you?"

Yurio bypasses maroon. It's a fun sight. "None of your business!"

Yuuri continues to tease him, "I thought you're going to Kazakhstan for a vacation..."

" _Shut it, pig!_ "

"Oi, Yurio, that reminds me... have you seen Victor?"

"No idea, I thought he said he's going out to sign autographs."

Yuuri looks around for Victor; Yurio is right, he isn't anywhere. He notices the poodle tissue-box they use, unattended on a chair, and walks around it and down the stairs searching for a silver-haired figure. Victor was exceptionally happy today, and there are all the chances he might be downing vodka with Chris at the nearest bar right now.

Yuuri finds him soon enough. Victor is indeed with Chris and his coach, chatting. A huddle of Victor fans in waiting outside the glass entrance barrier, cheering for him and demanding him to come out. Victor waves back, grinning, and asks them to wait a little more. When they don't listen and cheer harder, Victor comically exhales and starts to walk towards them.

Yuuri finds it endearing, until he finds the third man from the right in that hoodie slightly shady. It's almost as if he doesn't want to show his face, and isn't going bonkers like the rest. And there's something - something - under the poster he's holding to be autographed.

 _Oh, no_. Yuuri breaks into a run.

* * *

" _Victor, look out!_ "

All Victor registers is a sudden, hard shove. The next thing he hears is a loud noise and the glass barrier shattering; he thuds to the ground, confused. He glances up - it is a gun that has fired from outside, the guards at the entrance have hauled up the assailant at that instant and wrestled the weapon out of his hand. The people are running helter-skelter in panic.

"Y-Yuuri?"

Victor finds him at an arm's length. Yuuri is on his knees, his eyes wide, his hand pressing onto the dark, rapidly expanding spot on his jacket. " _Yuuri_!" Victor catches him before his knees give way and he tumbles head-first to the floor. Within a few short seconds, their hands, Yuuri's jacket, the tiles of the floor he lay on – everything is stained with blood.

"Yuuri," Victor mumbles again, almost pleading. There is too much to process, and he is still in disbelief; he lets his instincts take over. His eyes well up with tears even as Yuuri looks up at him, dazed, as if he still hasn't realised there is a bullet lodged in his chest.

"Yuuri, just focus on me, alright, I want you to focus on me. Try not to fall asleep," Victor is practically bawling by now, tears trickling down his chin, "Help's gonna come any minute now - just stay with me -"

His hands trembling, he keeps pressure on the wound, even as the blood seeps through. Panic gurgling in his throat, he has no option but to pray as he watches Yuuri's breath get shallower by the minute. "Vic...tor," Yuuri manages to breathe out, "j-just in case... I... I love you."

" _Don't you even dare_ ," he hisses back. What is Yuuri even playing at, giving him some sort of goodbye? Even if it's them against the world, they promised each other they are not going to lose.

They won't lose. Come whatever may.

They won't. Victor won't let them.

They _won't_.

Help is still far away. Victor feels a crowd around them. People are looking on with morbid curiosity; some are screaming - familiar people. Nothing matters right now but Yuuri; Victor checks his watch - it's hardly been half a minute since it happened. Yuuri's eyelids are droopy with dizziness; he can't hold his head up and his hand has rolled down Victor's lap like a lifeless rag doll.

"Yuuri," he cries like a child lost in the crowd, " _please don't leave me..._ "

* * *

"Here."

Victor looks up. They are at the most dreadful, depressing place in the city right now, waiting on a bench and Yurio is holding up a cup of coffee to him. Victor glances away; the ominous smell of the sanitizers, the grim faces of the nurse and the bland white tiles of the floor of the hospital - peppered with the buzz of media outside and a heap of false consolations - they make him want to vomit.

"I know what you're thinking," says Yurio, sitting beside him, "You're thinking it should've been you. That - that _sonofabitch motherfucker_ \- he shot at you. But you're forgetting something important, you dumbass."

Yurio cannot hold his tears any longer. His voice breaks, comes out in loud, angry sobs. "You are the weak one. You'd have made a mess. Katsudon... he's _strong_ \- stronger than you or I have ever been! He has the stamina and I know he battles it out when things get out of hand... so, _quit whining_! And... and don't tell him I said all of this when he wakes up..."

"Come here," Victor wraps his arm around the boy and draws him in for a hug. Yurio doesn't resist, but breaks down into harder sobs. Victor pushes a lump down his own throat when their moment is interrupted by an officer.

"Mr. Nikiforov?"

"Yes."

"If you're okay with it, I've come to talk about the assailant."

Victor grits his teeth. Something white-hot surges through his veins, and it feels like venom. "Sure."

"The assailant is a 34-year old Russian man Aleksei Kuznetsovich. He has confessed that he and a few of his friends have been sending you mails, calling you on your personal phone and have also attacked at your apartment but found it empty. I think the case is solved, Mr. Nikiforov."

Unsurprisingly, that changes _nothing_.

* * *

More than ten hours have passed sitting on that wretched bench. Yuuri's family might be arriving in another hour or so, and the idea of looking them in the eye and talking about Yuuri's condition makes Victor's insides knot in fear. He is deep in his pitcher of dark thoughts when he feels a tap on his shoulder. It's Yurio; he's looking at the doctor who has come out of surgery.

The doctor's face is impossible to read. "How's he doing?" asks Yurio, before Victor can.

"He's on life support. He's slightly conscious right now, you can go see him. Try not to stress him out though. I'm sorry, that's all I can say for now."

Victor feels his world toppling over its axis. In any case, he rushes into the room. Yuuri seems to be sleeping, an oxygen mask on his face, an IV in his wrist, a number of machines ticking and blinking along the left wall of the room. Victor takes Yuuri's hand in his, and pushes back the hair fallen carelessly over his forehead.

"Wake up, love," he places a tender kiss on Yuuri's hand.

Yuuri shifts a little. Of course, he is awake.

"Just hang on for a little longer," Victor whispers, trying as hard as he can to not cry in front of him, "Then we'll go home. Makkachin's waiting."

He presses his face down on Yuuri's hand as tears threaten to leak out again, when he feels a finger boop him in the middle of the head. He glances up; Yuuri is smiling at him.

"The bald spot, huh?" Victor laughs despite everything, "Don't tell me it's getting that bad... Just so you know I ordered about fifteen new hair products last week. Damn, I guess it's all just money down the drain..."

Just when he thinks he has exhausted them all, his eyes itch and new hot tears start streaming down. _Why_ , he feels his heart breaking into a million pieces, _why them_. And if all of this had to, just _had_ to happen, it should've been him lying on that bed, not Yuuri. Victor puts his head down at the side of the bed, breathing into Yuuri's warm hand, and drifts off.

By the time he wakes up, Yuuri's hand is cold.

* * *

Victor isn't even sure what he is doing there.

The courtroom is bustling with strangers. The atmosphere is not exactly quiet, and the mutterings grow even louder when the police drags in a man named Aleksei Kuznetsovich. Cameras click, flash around them even as the judge orders them to silence again.

Victor mutes out the monotony. There isn't a single face he knows, maybe apart from the lawyer, and the judge he has seen a few good times over the last couple of months. He usually spaces out in his own thoughts during the court proceedings; only once last month he was asked to actively participate when he was called in as a witness - to recount everything in gut-wrenching detail.

"Aleksei Kuznetsovich, do you have anything to say in your defence?"

It catches Victor's attention; it is the only thing Victor wants to hear, for which he has been unwillingly forcing himself into the courtroom every session for the past months.

Victor doesn't know if that's remorse on the man's face, but it's definitely some kind of grief. He hears the man talk emotionlessly - at first about things Victor doesn't understand, then about the man's son who confessed to him about coming out of the closet - he says that's what fuelled it all - he says he thought it's wrong, he says he thought his son is trying to mimic the skaters - he says he thought maybe it's the colours so he dumped his son's paintings and set them on fire. He says his son tells him now he's ashamed to call him his father.

Then he says he is _sorry_ for what he did. Victor clenches his fists so tight his nails draw blood.

Victor's lawyer dismisses the man's statement calling it a bunch of emotional hogwash that never existed before and pleads for a punishment as strict as possible. The judge declares he shall announce the sentence in the next session. The assembly is dispersed, but not before Victor makes one resounding call.

" _Wait_."

He is walking towards Aleksei Kuznetsovich. The police who held the criminal have stopped on their tracks, in fact, it seems the whole courtroom is waiting to see what Victor is going to do when he confronts the man - if he's going to slap him, or punch him, swear at him, or if he's carrying some kind of weapon to actually hurt him and get his revenge. Victor gazes at the man; the pale face is trembling with terror when Victor makes his move.

When he does, the place rings with a collective gasp. The people haven't been expecting a _hug_.

"You took everything from me," Victor mutters into his ear, "and I can never forgive you. But my husband died to save my life and I won't waste a moment of it on hating you. I hope when you're out of jail, you get to be a better father and give your son the love he deserves."

Victor turns his back and trots his way out to the sound of the loud sobs of a thirty-four year old Russian man reverberating in a crowded court hall.

* * *

Victor pulls the skating blades out of his shoes and goes to the locker room for the keys to the place. It has been about five months since he retired from international skating circuit and left St. Petersburg and settled near Hasetsu, training kids at the Ice Castle. He assumed he'll be struck with nightmares once he arrives here, but till now, it has only been good memories. A humble life suits him better than he thought it will.

When he comes back to the rink, the lights are dim. It is odd, because it's way past practice hours and no one is supposed to be here. He thinks he must've been lost in his thoughts when he did it, and shakes it off. He turns to lock the door, when he hears the faint sound of a song playing.

 _Stammi Vicino_.

It must be ringing inside his head. He clearly remembers he switched off the music system. More importantly, he perhaps doesn't even possess the duetto of the song anymore. But it's playing, echoing across the rink. He pulls the door ajar and peeks in.

There is a lone figure gliding on the ice, a spooky spotlight-like sheen around him. The bag Victor is holding flops to the floor; his jaw drops in awe. This has to be a hallucination.

"Yuuri?"

He turns when Victor utters his name. For a long minute, their eyes lock and they smile at each other. Victor knows it's something his mind created and yet he reaches out to touch it. He knows Yuuri will probably disappear the moment he does.

But Yuuri doesn't. Victor can actually touch his face, feel his fingers against his. Yuuri's natural warmth is replaced with an unearthly coldness. He's wearing glasses; he never wore glasses while skating. His hair is the usual black mess, and it hasn't grown a bit since he last saw him.

"Oi, Victor, why do you look so thin? Have you not been eating well?"

His voice is so curious and childlike it sends Victor bawling again. Victor falls to his knees and lets it all out - everything he has been bottling inside him for the last few months - the finality of it stabbing him over and over again, how kind Yuuri's family, Yurio and everyone else has been and yet he knows the void can never be repaired.

"Why did you have to _leave_ me?!" he screams out.

"I'm right here, Victor."

"No, you're not!" he cries out, "You left me. And - and I'm so lonely without you. I'm so lonely, Yuuri."

"I didn't come back here to see you cry, Victor -"

"But you'll have to. You deserve it. We lost, Yuuri, we _lost_ against this world."

"Hey," Yuuri wraps his arms around Victor, "look at me." Victor stared up. Yuuri's brown eyes don't have the human depth anymore; it is as if they are almost transparent. This Yuuri doesn't belong to Victor's memory or imagination. Does that mean he really is here...?

"We didn't lose," Yuuri tells him firmly, "Maybe we didn't get our happy ending, but we won. We taught others to _love_."

"Yuuri..."

"I told you I won't let love lose. Don't worry, Vitya, we'll have our happy ending someday. Maybe in the next lifetime. No one can keep us apart."

"I love you."

"I've loved you more."

Yuuri pulls him back on his feet again to skate the pair routine they have rehearsed a hundred times before. Victor isn't wearing skates and neither is Yuuri, but maybe owing to some kind of magic neither of them has any difficulty sliding on the surface with grace. As the music reaches the crescendo, Victor spins into a combination... as if he is attempting to roll back time like a reel of photographs...

Then the music stops and he knows Yuuri is gone. Sitting in the middle of the ice, he wipes his tear-glazed face against his shirt and struggles back to his feet.

Someday, maybe, they'll finish the song together again. Someday.

He'll wait for that _someday_.

* * *

 **Wow this is definitely not how I planned it would go. I turned it into some kind of spirit quest or something, idk. I'm sorry if it's too long or too sad it's literally my first time writing here and i had a bucketload of angst in my chest and just had to channel it out. Turns out i'm sadder after writing this, so why take the grief alone, lol. k bye.**


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